Saved Your Life
by Metallover130
Summary: Ulquiorra owed Grimmjow a favor. This can be read as a friendship or slash, it's very ambiguous. I do not own Bleach. Also, I wrote this long before I read the Espada chapters, so forgive any mistakes.


_Las Noches. Land of Night. A realm where the sun never has, and never will, rise. A place of eternal night, where all of it's inhabitants are doomed to wander it's lunar landscape. _

Ulquiorra pondered these thoughts as he stood by his window, staring out into the world with unseeing eyes of green. Las Noches was a place Aizen had made as his kingdom, and rule over it he did. He had made it, and the Espada, who played the part of his loyal servants and subjects. The arrancar and fraccion were made as well, serving similar purposes. Everything in Las Noches was of Aizen-sama's grand design. Even Ulquiorra, who had at one point long ago been a human man and then a hollow, had been altered to fit Aizen's whims. All of the Espada had been. Stark, Barragon, Halibel, Nnoitra, Grimmjow, Nel... everyone. They had all wandered Hueco Mundo without purpose other than to kill when the traitor had discovered them, and ripped apart their masks.

He touched his own mask then, running a finger over the cool bone-like structure. It was half a helmet, and a large and very dangerous horn protruded from the side. Oddly Ulquiorra could not remember what he had looked like as a human, or a hollow. He assumed that as a human he looked relatively the same as he did now, except his skin would not have been white, and the green tear-tracks on his cheeks would surely have been absent. And of course, who could forget the large black hole in his neck, another vestige of his hollow days. That definitely had been missing.

Outside a chill wind blew, and it's cool unseen texture beckoned Ulquiorra. He moved closer to the window, letting the air of Las Noches tug at him, let it pull him further outside. He outstretched a thin arm, spreading his fingers, like he was expecting someone to take his hand and lift him up and away. He added his other arm, leaning far over the sill, and for a moment actually wanted to slip out. Perhaps the wind would carry him away to a place where there was warmth and sun.

Suddenly there was a hand on his back, dragging him inside in a manner most unceremonious. He was then tossed roughly onto his bed, and it bounced with the force of his weight hitting it. He looked up at the one who had thrown him, his pale face devoid of any emotion at all.

"Grimmjow," he said simply, confirming what he already knew. What he had known, from the moment the hand had grabbed him.

"Saved your life," the blue-haired Espada intoned, grinning in his usual cat-like way. "You would've fallen out of that window if I hadn't grabbed you." There was a confidence to his voice that said that he knew what he was saying was untrue, but that it didn't make it any less of a fact. Ulquiorra was aware that Grimmjow wanted some sort of reaction, but that was something he'd likely never get. Once Ulquiorra had been made by Aizen, his personality had been chosen for him. "Emotionless" was a part of who he was now. Vaguely he wondered if he'd ever been anything but. Maybe he might have once, but he couldn't remember, and even if he could it wouldn't matter. This was who he was now, and nothing, not even Grimmjow, could change it.

"Grimmjow. What are you doing in my room?" The Sexta Espada looked confused at the question, almost as if he'd had no idea that he wasn't permitted to barge into other people's rooms at will. Like it wasn't poor manners of him.

"Saving you from falling to your death. Why else would I be in here?"

"Most likely to impose upon me your much unwanted presence. Shouldn't you be doing something... more productive?"

Grimmjow got that confused look again.

"More productive than saving Aizen's favorite toy?"

His words were an obvious jeer, meant to insult, but Ulquiorra felt no sting. So what if he was Aizen-sama's most preferred Espada? Shouldn't one be proud of what they have made, and make use of it? Aizen had made him, and to Ulquiorra Aizen was his God. There was only pleasure for him in serving his God, no matter what Aizen used him for.

"You didn't save me. I wouldn't have fallen, and I wouldn't have died." They were both well aware of this fact and Ulquiorra knew that Grimmjow knew, but he told him anyway. The whole thing was just a trivial pursuit to amuse Grimmjow, and Ulquiorra supposed that once Grimmjow's boredom was satisfied he'd go away.

"You would have," he insisted, just as Ulquiorra had known he would. "This means you're indebted to me. You owe me one."

He decided to go easy on himself and just get it over with. Ulquiorra sat up on the bed and started to untie his obi, and Grimmjow suddenly seemed terribly surprised. "Whoa, Ulquii, what the fuck're you doing?" Ulquii was his shortened nickname, invented by the Primera Espada Stark, who was too lazy to pronounce Ulquiorra's whole name every time he spoke to him.

"This is what you want, isn't it?" Already the pale man was used to that being the terms of agreement for him in Las Noches. His Aizen had made him pleasing to the eyes, and his efforts had not gone to waste. Ulquiorra had simply assumed that Grimmjow had wanted him the same way everyone else wanted him. Though with his lack of emotions many were disappointed afterwards; getting reactions really seemed to mean a lot to people. Just because he wasn't screaming didn't mean that he wasn't enjoying himself.

But Grimmjow just shook his head. "No! That's just sick! Takin advantage of somebody like that... that'd be low, even for me! I just meant that you owe me a favor later on." Ulquiorra retied his sash and moved to the edge of the bed. He no longer wanted to stand but lying down seemed odd to do when you were having a conversation with someone.

"Like what? Polish your sword? Be your slave? Stay out of your way in the next battle? Tell me what you want so I can do it and be done with this foolishness." Playing along was all one could do when dealing with Grimmjow, but he refused to be polite about it.

Despite the fact that all of this idiocy was Grimmjow's doing, he still acted offended at Ulquiorra's blatant annoyance. "Hey, that's no fun! I'll just dangle it over you, until the right time comes."

"Alright, fine. I shall fulfill this pointless exercise at your request." Satisfied with that cold and easily insulting promise Grimmjow departed, and left Ulquiorra alone to resume where he had left off in his ponderings.

~*~

Ulquiorra did fulfill his agreement with Grimmjow, but not in a manner either could have foreseen, or even have guessed at. Ulquiorra had predicted labor and Grimmjow had desired humiliation, but neither was granted or received.

The promise was fulfilled when a battle erupted between Ulquiorra and Stark. Stark had, in passing, horribly insulted Aizen, which was a crime Ulquiorra did not tolerate. He let Grimmjow get away with it because... because that was just a part of who Grimmjow was. Like Ulquiorra's emotionlessness; it was how they had been made. For Grimmjow to outrightly respect anyone would be as unusual as seeing a polka-dotted elephant riding a motorcycle across the desert plains of Hueco Mundo. But Stark had never outwardly disrespected Aizen before, and while the Quatra Espada would usually let it slide the first time the insult had been so vile and traitorous that Ulquiorra had simply acted without thinking. Later on, when his thoughts had cleared, he would consider that Stark might have been joking. But at that moment he had not been considering anything but making Stark apologize for insulting his Aizen.

Unfortunately, while Ulquiorra was one of the most powerful Espada at number four, Stark was still number one, and it had been no contest. Even sleepy and disoriented Stark's reflexes and speed far surpassed those of the pale-skinned youth, and he'd fallen without even coming close to landing a blow.

No one made any move to aid Ulquiorra, even as he lay dying. They feared Aizen and what would inevitably be his wrath, but he was not there now. Stark was, and he was fairly annoyed at Ulquiorra's actions. For Stark to be anything other than bored was scary enough to keep even Halibel, number three, at a safe distance.

But not Grimmjow. Grimmjow feared nothing in this world or the next, and he walked right up to Stark and told him to take a flying fuck at a rolling donut. Stark was believably shocked but not all that surprised. After all, what behavior did one expect from Grimmjow? No, what was shocking was not the insult or it's forwardness, but that he said it in Ulquiorra's defense. And, continuing to perplex everyone watching, Grimmjow bent down, hoisted the then unconscious Ulquiorra into his arms, and walked away with him.

Ulquiorra wouldn't learn that he'd fulfilled the promise he'd made until after he recovered. He'd awoken two days later, completely healed, resting comfortably on his bed. Grimmjow had been waiting as patiently as was possible for him, and he grinned like he always did when he saw two very emotionless, half-lidded green eyes find him.

"Oh, you're finally awake! I was starting to think I'd be sittin here til next week." He stood up, dusted his hakama pants unnecessarily and started to walk away; but he paused at the door. "And, yeah, hey–you don't owe me anymore. Consider us even."

It took Ulquiorra a few minutes to realize that by living he'd given Grimmjow the favor he'd wanted, and it made him start his ponderings again. The only logical explanation was that Grimmjow wanted to kill Ulquiorra himself to move up in the ranks, and by surviving his brush with death he'd given Grimmjow the means to attain that goal.

At least, that's what he assumed.

~*~

Aizen had, as they'd all known, been understandably angered when he'd been informed by Gin of Ulquiorra's near death experience. When no one would willingly confess to doing it (fearing Stark as well as Aizen), the ex-Soul Reaper Captain just asked Ulquiorra himself. Even though Stark had practically carved him in half Ulquiorra felt no fear of him. His Aizen had asked him a question and wanted an honest answer, so he gave it without a moment's hesitation.

Stark was not seen again for many days.

Then, after an almost two week absence he returned. He looked relatively unharmed, but he limped constantly on his left leg and could be seen nursing both of his arms. He was also noticeably quieter, and hardly spoke a single word to anyone.

Ulquiorra took a small amount of pleasure in the knowledge of Stark's punishment, but not because his injury had been avenged. He was just pleased that Aizen had dealt properly with Stark after his lapse of judgement. Stark had not only bad-mouthed God, but he'd also come close to killing God's most favorite creation. So God had reminded him with the way things worked and refreshed his memory on proper etiquette toward his belongings. Anyone could tell you it was never a good idea to break God's toys.

It had been Grimmjow who had informed Ulquiorra of what had transpired during his period of healing, but was flabbergasted at Ulquiorra's lack of anger or malice toward Stark. He calmly explained his feelings on the matter hoping to make Grimmjow understand, but when it came to hotheads like him it was about as possible as a sunny day in Las Noches.

But nevertheless Ulquiorra did politely thank him for saving his life, and for the vulgar but inspiring words he'd imparted upon Stark. "Very interesting choice. Not what I would have said myself, but it was still... kind of you. Thank you, Grimmjow." If the blue-haired man had been thrown before, he was gone now. Ulquiorra, to his knowledge, had never thanked anyone–especially not him.

"Oh, uh... yeah, you're welcome, I guess..."

Ulquiorra was satisfied with his response, and preceded to go back to his usual activities, and that included ignoring Grimmjow. Since they were now even, there seemed no apparent reason to pay him any more mind.

After a few minutes Grimmjow left, but without his normal loudness. He simply stood, departed, and closed the door behind him.

~*~

Things continued as they had before after that. Excluding Stark's development of a limp and Grimmjow's sullen new attitude, nothing had changed. Nnoitra was still a sexist lech, Halibel was still silent, Gin was still uncomfortable to be around, and Aizen was still God.

Ulquiorra's world was right about where it needed to be, and it was this reason that he was not content. Aizen noticed that his mood had changed (and only Aizen, who had made him, could discern his moods), and one night after tending to his God's pleasures Ulquiorra found himself being subjected to a survey.

"You seem unhappy," Aizen said, stroking Ulquiorra's silky black hair. "Have I done something to displease you? Because if I have, I will repair it."

"No, Aizen-sama. There is nothing you can do that would displease me. You could break every bone in my body if it were your wish and it would not displease me." Aizen smiled in a proud sort of way and wrapped his long tan arms around Ulquiorra's pale form, revealed when Aizen had slipped off his uniform.

"Then what darkens your brow so? Is it Stark? Has he been bothering you again?"

"No, Aizen-sama."

"Then perhaps Grimmjow?"

"No, Aizen-sama." Quieter this time.

"I give up. Tell me why you are so depressed, so that I may make up for it." Ulquiorra yearned to tell his God what ate at him inside, but it was difficult to find the words.

"I'm...cold, Aizen-sama. But not in the body, for you made we Espada strong. No, I am cold in the heart, Aizen-sama." He touched the place where his heart was supposedly situated in his chest. "It aches, and for what I am unsure. I know not how to make it stop." Aizen sighed and pressed his lips to Ulquiorra's neck, kissing it tenderly.

"Ah... that is a dilemma. Unfortunately that is not something I can fix. Matters of the heart are something only you can alleviate yourself of, Ulquiorra." But what Aizen withheld from his creation was that what he was experiencing was not any true pain, but the discomfort of returning emotion. It perhaps explained his uncharacteristic retaliation against Stark, who was obviously so much more powerful than himself. Normally Ulquiorra would have kept his head and his temper, but pure, unadulterated fury had blinded his judgement. And, unbeknownst to Aizen but slowly dawning on Ulquiorra was the understanding of his thanking Grimmjow, which had been an expression of gratitude. Another emotion. Much like his current depression.

Eventually Aizen released Ulquiorra from him and the Quatra Espada returned to his quarters, lightheaded and heavyhearted.

~*~

Ulquiorra's solution to his aching came as unexpectedly as everything else had arrived. He had been lying on his back on his bed, arms and legs spread, staring straight up at the ceiling. It was a comfortable position and allowed him the freedom to do nothing at all, which could sometimes be a lot. In this case he was thinking (his most frequent habit), pondering what would remove the cold pain from his chest, when Grimmjow entered his chambers, unannounced as always. That was one thing that had certainly not changed.

"Hey, Ulquii, what are you tryin to do, see through the ceilin?" Ulquiorra paid him no mind, and continued his task. However, Grimmjow was feeling particularly persistent that day, and he crawled onto the bed in a fashion suited only to a cat-like man such as himself. "I don't know if anyone ever told you, but you're supposed to answer someone when they ask you a question." Still Ulquiorra ignored him, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to focus. For some reason Grimmjow's proximity was dragging him out of his thoughts and back into his body.

Which Grimmjow was now sitting over. One knee was on either side of Ulquiorra's hips, and Grimmjow's hands rested flat on their palms by Ulquiorra's head. Blue eyes met green ones, and a staring contest was wordlessly initiated.

Of course, Ulquiorra won. There was no denying that–Ulquiorra had all but made a reputation of staring down his opponents with his piercing and intimidating gaze. Grimmjow was a poor loser and demanded a rematch that turned into five, and then an all out war. He was not gifted a single triumph.

"Geez you are one creepy bastard," he sighed. "Don't you ever fuckin blink?" Ulquiorra did to show that he could, but only did it once. Grimmjow just shook his head. "Man, you're weird. I'm gettin outta here." But before he could even move to climb off the be Ulquiorra raised his arms in a method similar to the way he had days ago when all of this had first started. But now he wasn't just grasping at the wind, grasping at nothing. He reached up and draped his arms languidly around Grimmjow's torso, effortlessly pulling the Espada into a gentle embrace.

"I won," he explained calmly. "This is my prize." Grimmjow didn't bother to struggle; he was only number six, two levels too weak to be a challenge for Ulquiorra. Instead he let himself be squeezed by a body that was much smaller but so much stronger than his own without protest. It occurred to Ulquiorra after a few seconds that the icy ache in his heart had melted away, and he smiled a very, very small smile that was entirely genuine.

Grimmjow eventually snaked his own arms under Ulquiorra and held him back. It was awkward but pleasant at the same time, and he decided to indulge. Why not? Neither were the types to ever tell what they did when they were alone, and this was definitely something that would never leave the boundaries of the bedroom.

"So, um, Ulquii... how long are you going to hug me?" Ulquiorra didn't answer–he replied by snuggling into the crook of Grimmjow's neck, nuzzling the junction of his shoulder and collarbone. The blue-haired man shivered at the unexpected contact but made no motion to escape it. While normally thickheaded, it was obviously clear even to Grimmjow that for whatever reason Ulquiorra needed to do this. Though he wondered to himself why he didn't do it with Aizen.

They stayed like that, locked in each other's embrace until Grimmjow felt Ulquiorra's hold start to loosen. He remained still until both skinny arms slipped free and fell to the bed, where they stayed, unmoving. The Sexta Espada let out a suppressed sigh of relief, and removed his own arms with almost laughable caution. He really didn't want Ulquiorra to wake up and grab onto him again.

But the moment he was off the bed one lily-white hand reached out and grabbed hold of Grimmjow's, holding it tight. He thought for a second Ulquiorra really _had_ awoken, but his eyes were still shut, veiled by his eyelids. Grimmjow wanted badly to tug his hand free and leave, but he stayed, even after intending to depart. He sat back on the bed, and really had to hold in a laugh when Ulquiorra turned on his side, curled into a loose fetal position. _That's damn cute_, he thought, but immediately regretted letting the words cross his mind. _Me, thinkin Ulquii's cute? Damn, what's the world comin to?!_

Still, when Ulquiorra's long thin fingers tightened around his own he felt a sort of pang in his chest, and all thoughts of leaving him flew out of his head. _I can't really leave him, much as I want to. And besides, he did win. So I guess... I kind of owe him._

Grimmjow held Ulquiorra's single hand in both of his, and lost deep in the waves of warm, iceless sleep, Ulquiorra smiled again, and this time Grimmjow didn't miss it.


End file.
